


Underneath the Golden Armor

by BladesAndSwords



Category: Dark Souls I, Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen, Kind romance, M/M, kinda platonic, why not both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24401932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladesAndSwords/pseuds/BladesAndSwords
Summary: Ornstein has finally reunited with his true king, but rather than peace, he finds only doubts in the presence of his former master.
Relationships: The Nameless King/Dragon Slayer Ornstein
Comments: 26
Kudos: 44





	1. Remember

“So, it is true.”

The words stabbed him in the back.

Ornstein halted his steps.

“You are leaving.”

Smough’s chuckle followed instantly. His voice echoed inside the confines of his grotesque armor.

Ornstein rewarded him only with silence.

He had expected to be followed, but not by the executioner.

He was prepared to fight against all the illusory knights Gwyndolin threw at him. Fighting the god himself was a possibility Ornstein wished would never happen, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think the Dark Moon wouldn’t dare to go after him personally.

There was no forgiveness left for him in Anor Londo, not after the sin and treason he was committing.

_A sinner and a traitor._

The words left an unfillable void inside him. 

Ornstein would have never imagined he would be the bearer of either title, even less of both. Their burden was a constant presence in his body and mind. He had wondered, more times than he would dare to admit, if that was how the Darksign felt for humans when the Undead curse branded their bodies with its blight.

To compare himself to those infected creatures had been a devastating blow for his pride, one that had yet to heal. 

He was starting to think it never would.

“Lord Gwyndolin is not happy at all.”

A metallic echo resonated when something crashed against the stony floor. 

When Smough spoke again, his voice came free of his helmet’s filters. “I wonder how he would reward me if I present him with your corpse; more generously than his father ever did, I hope. If fortune is on my side, he will let me have your bones. I must admit their taste has long intrigued me.”

Ornstein turned around and faced his former comrade. He frowned at the sight of Smough’s exposed face. Had they been under gentler circumstances, he would have scolded him for his insolence and lack of self-dignity.

Smough, uncaring of the code he had just broken, began to lick his hammer.

It was his personal ritual before a fight. Once the gigantic weapon became drenched with the blood of his victim, Smough always licked it clean afterwards.

Had Ornstein been a knight of lower rank, he would have cursed his fate for his encounter with the executioner.

Smough’s tongue departed from the golden metal surface and retreated back into his mouth. He smiled at Ornstein.

For a moment, Ornstein felt in the presence not of an enemy but of an old friend. In a cruel gesture, his mind wandered back to the memories of Artorias, Ciaran, Gough and—

_Him._

Ornstein wielded his spear and raised it in a defensive stance, just like _he_ used to do.

The same way _him_ had taught Ornstein.

_My king._

The presence of his king and his fellow knights in his mind was too much for Ornstein.

He hoped Smough would attack soon so he would give him a reason to turn his attention far away from the painful memories of his past.

It would happen at any moment.

Smough was not one to overlook an opportunity for a battle, nor did he contain himself once he started.

Ornstein was no stranger to his savagery. He had never been the victim of it, but he had been its witness in countless occasions.

What Smough’s movements lacked in speed, they compensated in brute force. Yet, his style was not mindless or unrefined. There was an elegance and dedication in his barbarity that Ornstein had always admired as a practical warrior, if never as an honorable knight.

_Honorable._

Ornstein almost laughed. It was bold of him to continue to associate himself with that word.

_I’m no more honorable than you, Smough. Perhaps, now that we are on equal terms, I can appreciate your violence in its truest form. This first and final battle of ours shall be your parting gift to me, and I accept it. It saddens me it has come to this, but perhaps there was no other way our friendship could have ever ended._

The spear in his hands glowed with the contained energy of sacred thunders.

“If you want them, my bones shall be my parting gift to you, old friend.” Ornstein said as golden threads of light shone upon his armor. “But only if you manage to defeat me. I know you will not show me mercy, so neither will I. Come then, let us see which one of us is the last one standing.”

Confident as he was in his own skills, Ornstein knew better than to underestimate Smough. Unlike him, the executioner had never been named a Knight of Gwyn, but it had not been because he lacked the talent and power necessaries to bear the title.

He was a formidable warrior, one that could indeed take Ornstein’s life with a single blow if he was caught off guard.

_I won’t die. I still have a duty to fulfill._

The memory of the departed king filled his anxious heart with courage.

_I have a reason to live._

Smough lifted his hammer.

Ornstein pointed his spear forward, decided to send a storm of lighting raining down upon the executioner.

Neither the crushing blow of Smough’s weapon nor the magic attack of Ornstein materialized. Instead, they remained frozen in their positions as if time had come to an end and they had been forced to remain forever still.

“How strange.” Smough said.

He chuckled as he dropped his hammer to floor.

The weapon made the ground shake under its colossal weight. “It appears I’ve lost my appetite. Suddenly, the mere thought of eating you makes me sick to my stomach. It’s not a great loss... after all, the bones of a kind-hearted fool like you are bound to be disgustingly sweet, and the least thing I want is for my teeth and tongue to rot.”

Smough took a step towards him. His pace was slow but unyielding.

Ornstein was at loss of words and thoughts.

The coat of lighting covering his spear began to fade. The closer Smough was to him, the more difficult it was for him to concentrate.

Had he wanted to, Ornstein could have ended Smough’s life in an instant by piercing his chest with a surprise attack. Yet, he did nothing.

When Smough reached him, he put his hands over Ornstein’s and made him put down his spear. Without it, no obstacle remained between them.

Then, before Ornstein could prevent it, Smough removed his helmet and discarded it with the same indifference he had done with his own.

_In all these years, this is the first time we see each other’s faces._

It was something that happened only among warriors that held the deepest respect and care for each other. Ornstein had allowed his face to be naked in the presence of Artorias, Ciaran and Gough.

Above all, he had done so when in the company of his king.

It was maybe because of the intimacy and longing the ritual had always implied for him that Ornstein felt the sourest hatred towards Smough for forcing him to share that same moment with him.

They had been comrades, but not true brothers in arms. Ornstein dared to say he had once considered Smough a close friend, but he was sure the executioner didn’t regard him in the same esteem.

No one never really knew where they stood with Smough. His mind was a maze that only made sense to himself.

Their bond, while not shallow, was not deep.

Smough was not worthy of seeing Ornstein’s face.

He would never forgive him for what he had done.

“I do not wish to fight you, Ornstein.” Smough said. He was so free of tension or fear that Ornstein couldn’t muster the will to attack him, no matter how much his heart ordered him to make him pay for his offense. “I know well what you think of me. You are no different from Lord Gwyn and your dear fellow knights on this. None of them was ever shy to hide their disdain for me, a disdain I’m sure you too feel towards me deep down; yet, you were always kind to me and kept those awful opinions to yourself. This is one of the reasons why I will let you go.”

“You’ve grown too confident in yourself if you think I need your pity, Smough.” Ornstein said. “Keep it. I do not need it to defeat you.”

He tried to raise his spear, but Smough kept it down with a single hand.

His strength was far more monstrous than what Ornstein had thought.

A fight against him would be almost a death sentence, but Ornstein was ready to take his chances.

_For you, my king._

“No. We won’t fight.” Smough said. “I’ll go back to my rightful post by lady Gwynevere’s side, while you shall leave this place in search for your beloved king. A traitor and a coward, just like you.”

Anger blinded Ornstein. His sight went red and his arms moved with a strength he didn’t think possible. When his mind cleared, he saw the blade of his spear resting against Smough’s cheek, wet with his blood.

The wound bled abundantly. For a common mortal the injury would be lethal, but to Smough, it was little more than a superficial cut.

The executioner, rather than replying to the attack with a similar fit of rage, merely laughed and licked the blood that streamed near his mouth.

Then, without any visible effort, he grabbed Ornstein’s spear by the blade and removed it from his flesh. He pulled Ornstein so close to him that the knight could smell the iron scent of his blood mixing with the plates of his armor.

“Leave, Ornstein.” Smough said. “But before of you do, look at me.”

Against his will, Ornstein’s eyes became fixed on Smough’s.

They were filled with satisfaction.

“Whenever you find yourself regretting your decision, whenever you dream of the times you once were the proud leader of the knights of Gwyn, remember this. It was Smough the executioner who last stood as a proud knight in the kingdom of Anor Londo.”

Ornstein held his breath. He tried to look away, but Smough held him by the chin and made him look at his eyes again.

“Artorias perished at the Abyss, Ciaran was broken by grief, Gough was blinded by creatures lower than him, and now, their leader Ornstein abandons his duty to follow after his traitorous king. The fabled Knights of Gwyn failed, but Smough the executioner did not. Though always ridiculed and deemed unworthy, Smough remained. Remember this, Ornstein, for this is the other reason why I’ll let you walk away with your life.”

Ornstein pulled himself back. His face became free of Smough’s fingers, but they left their mark in the form of three diagonal cuts on his cheeks: two on the left side, one on the right side.

As soon as he regained his balance, Ornstein picked up his helmet and jumped backwards, as far from Smough as he could.

Despite the distance between them, Ornstein swore he could hear Smough’s sadistic laughter ringing in his ears. Whether it was real or just an illusion was something he never discovered.

“Remember it, Ornstein.” Smough said. He smashed the ground with a foot and sent his distant helmet into the air. With a calculated precision, it fell on his hand. “Remember my words, just like I will always remember the look in your eyes. These memories and not the scars we inflicted on our faces are our true parting gifts.”

He put his helmet on and walked away. Smough never looked back, not even when he made a brief pause to pick up his beloved hammer.

Ornstein found no words to say. In many ways, Smough had already said all there was left to be spoken between them.

Before putting his helmet back on, Ornstein touched the wounds the executioner had left on him.

They would heal soon.

Ornstein wished he could say the same about his beaten pride.

_It will._

A small surge of confidence gave Ornstein the strength he needed to put his helmet on and continue walking forward.

_Once I find you, everything will make sense again. I’m sure of it._

The thought was his only companion as he left Anor Londo and his sun of illusion behind for good.

_My king._


	2. Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Wow, thank you so much for all the kudos!! And also thanks to baraspoots and tarori for the comments!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new chapter :)

“Ornstein?”

The king’s voice broke the memory and brough reality back to Ornstein’s life. The fake sunlight of Anor Londo faded and was replaced by the grey monotony of the walls of stone of Archdragon Peak.

Ornstein raised his head against the complaints of his numb neck. His whole body was stiff.

For how long he had daydreamed within his memories was something he couldn’t possibly know. It wasn’t seldom that Ornstein became a victim of the phantoms of his past during his meditation sessions in the company of the king.

How couldn’t he when nothing but absolute silence lingered between them during those lengthy moments of pondering?

Ornstein didn’t know why he showed so much respect about a ritual related to dragons. Then again, he didn’t know much of the reasons behind his actions anymore.

“Are you alright?”

The king eased his body of the rigidity of the Path of the Dragon gesture and turned around.

Ornstein, with his eyes and features concealed behind the safety of his golden helmet as usual, nodded once.

It wasn’t enough for the king, for he kept staring at him with a expectant expression.

“Are you changing?” He asked. His king had never been a man used to hiding his emotions, so it wasn’t hard for Ornstein to notice the hope that accompanied his words.

Had Ornstein’s face been naked, the king would have seen the contained anger shining in his glare.

“No.”

The answer came so loaded with bitterness that the king straightened his back in response. It was the first time Ornstein saw him flinching at something he said.

_I was always honest to you. I was never afraid to let you know my thoughts, just like not once was I ever rude or impertinent towards you._

“Enough for today.” Ornstein stood up, breaking his stance so quickly that a couple of his muscles cramped and twisted under the weight of his armor. “I need to rest. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Wait, I’ll come with you.” The king was back on his feet in a heartbeat. He gasped in pain and scrubbed his back when his backbone cracked at his harsh movements. “Curses, I guess not even gods are free from time’s cruelty.”

In the past, the scene would have earned a good-natured laugh from Ornstein, perhaps even a friendly taunt at the king for his rashness. They would have laughed together, while Artorias, Ciaran and Gough—

_Remember my words, Ornstein._

Smough’s distant whispers were like a plague eager to contaminate any trace of happiness that appeared before Ornstein.

No attempt to ignore them had ever been successful, no matter how much Ornstein tried to focus on his present at his king’s side.

_My king, you’ve not changed at all._

Ornstein clenched his hands. His face was hot with an irrational and sudden hatred for the man before him.

“No.” Ornstein’s heart shrunk when he saw again the impact his denial had on his king. Only this time, he could see twice as much hurt and disappointment in his face. “I’d much prefer to be alone. You ought to finish with your meditations without letting my absence disturb you. We’ll see each other later.”

“Are you angry with me, Ornstein?”

The question caught the knight off-guard. His king was a god of mighty strength and imposing skill, but also the bearer of a sincerity more akin to that of a child than a deity.

Though it had often earned him his father’s anger and his siblings' annoyance, his king had never allowed any filter to exist between his heart and his mouth. To Ornstein, this trait had always been refreshing and admirable in its own way, even if it could come as too immature and cheekily provoking at times.

But at that moment, Ornstein felt no fondness at all, not for the concerned frown of his king, nor for his overly casual tone.

_Lord Gwyn often said you were a selfish, uncaring brat. I always defended you, I spoke for you regardless if that made me worthy of your father’s fury. You were not perfect, but you were far from being the man Lord Gwyn thought you were. I always believed that, but right now..._

“You shouldn’t ask questions,” Ornstein said, turning his back on the king, “if you already know the answer.”

“Was it because I asked you if you were changing?”

Ornstein felt the deafening thumping of his furious heartbeat throbbing inside his ears.

Had the king even listened to a word of what he had said?

Or was he so uncaring that he had dismissed Ornstein’s words as foolish and decided to merely ignore them?

_He was right about you._

Ornstein began to walk towards the shrine’s exit.

“Ornstein, I didn’t mean to offend you.” The king exclaimed. Under his voice, Ornstein did not hear the king’s steps following close behind him, and for that he was grateful. “You don’t have to change if you don’t want to. Or if you want to but are unable to do so, that’s fine as well. Whatever the case is, please know that I will not be mad at you at all.”

A spear to his chest wouldn’t have been more poignant and disorienting.

“You won’t be mad at me?” Ornstein repeated more to himself than for the king, but the god heard him and answered him back.

“Of course not. Whether you manage to become a dragon or decide to remain a knight, I’ll accept it.” The king dedicated a heartfelt laugh to Ornstein. “Changing into a draconic shape is not a feat easily accomplished. Some have been successful in the past, but even so, none became a real dragon in the strict sense... they were more like hybrids, abominations, in the most awful of cases. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you, my friend, so there’s no real need for you to try so hard for my sake.”

“I’m not doing this for you.” Ornstein felt the dismal need to remove his helmet so the deserter king could witness his outrage. He resisted the temptation; that god was not worth the trouble. It pained him it had taken him so long to realize it. “All I’ve ever done has been for my sake alone. In that, nameless king, we are the same.”

He left the building without waiting for a reply.

No words reached him.

Whether he had left the god speechless or his ears refused to acknowledge the other’s voice was irrelevant for Ornstein.

_Lord Gwyn was right about you._

His steady pace became a desperate sprinting. The men-serpent that watched him run by stared at him as if Ornstein had gone mad.

For all Ornstein knew, they were correct. He found no other reason for having gone in search for the deserter in the first place.

A selfish deserter like himself.

_Just like you were right about me, Smough._

* * *

He took the dragon scale from the shrine and admired it until the sun started to set. His mood for the rest of his meditations had perished the moment Ornstein had left him alone.

It was not that he disliked solitude, but he dreaded arguments, especially if they were left unfinished.

Disagreements were no different than encounters in the battlefield; they were never over until someone came out victorious.

Only then could things continue their natural course. All his life, he had followed this code, whether he slayed dragons and enemies, or he quarreled with his father.

It had been Ornstein, his beloved and most faithful knight, who had accomplished what not even his so-mighty father ever could.

He had left him speechless and unable to counterattack.

“I don’t understand.” He confessed with a resigned sigh as he caressed the scale with his thumbs. “I thought we were enjoying ourselves. What caused him to get so furious out of a sudden? It’s not as if he has never been angry at me before, but this time he sounded so... fed up.”

He thought about the times he and Ornstein had shared together since the knight had found him after what had been a perilous expedition.

Their reunion had been as memorable as anticlimactic.

At first, he had thought Ornstein was an illusion created by his wishful mind. And it wasn’t until he surrounded the knight with his arms and felt the warm touch of his armor that he knew that everything was real.

No words had been exchanged, and little more had been said ever since. No matter how much he tried to engage in a casual and friendly conversation with Ornstein, the knight seldom answered with anythint else other than dry phrases.

He had yet to know the true reasons of why Ornstein had searched for him in the first place. When he had left Anor Londo and its people behind, he hadn’t asked Ornstein to follow him.

There had been no farewell at all either, and it had been for the best.

There was nothing to be said between a traitorous king and his faithful knight; between an ally of dragons and a dragonslayer.

“Is this what angers you so?” He returned his dear dragon scale back to its rightful place on the shrine. “That I left without saying anything at all?”

After some more thought, a new possibility arose.

Maybe what was causing Ornstein’s foul mood was his incapacity to adapt to the way of life in Archdragon Peak.

“In this, I have little to do. You were the one who decided to come after me, Ornstein.”

And he was glad it had been so.

Though their relationships was only a shadow of what it had once been, for him, Ornstein’s company was enough.

And despite his moments of bitterness, it was obvious to him that Ornstein was trying his best to understand the ways of the dragon.

He hadn’t asked him to do so, it had been Ornstein’s own initiative. His faithful knight had always been one to never give up.

“You were a lot like him.” He said with a smile to the dragon scale. “And he is as precious to me as you were.”

_As were you all._

His siblings and former knights infiltrated his thoughts.

_I’ve lost all that was ever dear to me. I’ve got nothing left._

He sat down and joined his legs and hands in the form of the Path of the dragon gesture. More than to meditate, he did so to calm down his soul.

_Except for you, Ornstein. And for that—_

His thoughts were destroyed by the feeling of his own blood spreading its warm wetness all over the his right shoulder.

The expected pain followed.

It was nothing he couldn’t endure.

He only wished he could say the same about the hole that formed inside his chest when Ornstein’s words reached him from behind.

“Is this it?” The blade of the knight’s spear cut deeper into his flesh with every word he pronounced. “You betrayed us... just for this?”

“A surprise attack is only honorable after a duel has formally started. To attack an unknowing man is a coward’s way, not that of a knight.” He said calmly, the same way he had done when Ornstein had first started his training under his guidance. “For you to betray my teachings hurts me more than your spear ever could, Ornstein.”

“Quiet! Don’t you dare try to digress by lecturing me as if you were still my mentor.” Ornstein ordered. “You are nothing to me.”

“Careful, Ornstein.” The warning sounded menacing even to him. He could hear the familiar tone of his father’s voice in his own, as it always happened whenever true fury began to brew in his chest, threatening to send him into a fit of destruction.

It was one of the main reasons why he was such a zealous enemy of needless emotional outbursts.

“Remember it’s a god whom you’re addressing.”

_And a above all, a friend._

“You’re not my god.” Ornstein exclaimed. “You’re not my king. I don’t care if my words cause my death, not as long as you answer to what I just asked. If all the years we spent together before you left to join the dragons mean something to you, you will answer. If not, kill me right now. I know well I cannot stop you.”

His beloved knight was right. Though talented and dutiful in his daily training, Ornstein was no match for him. If they were to fight, he knew he would come out victorious.

Even then, he could have used the same spear stuck on his shoulder to end Ornstein’s life in that precise moment.

The reason he hadn’t done so was solely because he didn’t want to.

Yet, he was not as untouchable as Ornstein believed him to be. His knight had reached a vulnerable spot that hadn’t been profaned before, not with his weapon, but with his words.

“I’ll answer, for I too hate to leave things unresolved.” He declared, his posture as unbreakable as ever. “Yes, Ornstein, I left my old life behind for this. No, the dragons didn’t trick me. I knew well what I was giving up, and I accepted the consequences of my departure with my whole heart.”

“Why?” Ornstein asked. His voice took him off guard. He had expected anger and frustration, not saddened disbelief. “Was your life at my side not good enough for you? What of Artorias, Ciaran and Gough? What of Lord Gwyndolin and Lady Gwynevere? Do you even remember them at all? Did we all mean so little to you?”

The names of his siblings and knights forced him to clench his eyes closed as tightly as his hands. He thought of Filianore and Priscilla too, and they were almost successful in breaking him for good.

“What did the dragons offer you that we couldn’t?” Ornstein's grip on his spear faltered, he could tell by the soft vibrations that reached his shoulder through the blade. “All this time, I’ve tried so hard to understand... but no matter how I see it, I cannot find an answer. No matter how much I gaze at the idols, or listen to the men-serpent’s tales, or meditate in your company, I cannot comprehend how you could think this way of life was worth sacrificing everything you had.”

“My reasons are mine alone. I do not wish to share them, not even with—”

“It was all a tantrum against Lord Gwyn, wasn’t it? Just the hissy fit of a pampered god eager to rebel against his strict father. The selfish adventure of an immature brat that not once thought of the people he was leaving behind.”

That was it.

The limit had been crossed.

Ornstein’s words were no rude, they were blasphemous, and blasphemy was an offense that could only be paid with the offender’s life.

“Leave, Ornstein.” He said, not knowing how he could still speak when his body was overcome with murderous intent. “Leave and never return.”

“I will not.”

In contradiction with his statement, Ornstein removed his spear from his shoulder with an ungentle movement that came close to make him grunt.

“I’ve got no place I can return to, and even if I was granted forgiveness, I would not accept it. My sin is too big for me to atone for it. Even a traitorous and honorless knight like me knows he must accept the consequences of his actions, no matter how foolish they have been.”

He said nothing in response.

“I will not run away ever again. And if I am to die at your hands, let it happen in the heat of battle. Nameless king, I, Ornstein of the knights of Gwyn, challenge you to a duel to the death.”

The last ray of sunlight traveled through a hole in the stone wall and shone brightly upon the dragon scale.

The nameless king, as Ornstein had decided to call him, stared at it as if it was a treasure he hadn’t seen before.

Amidst his distress and stupefaction, the memory of his old Stormdrake resurfaced and burned his doubts and fears into ashes.

* * *

“What have I done?”

Ornstein collapsed on a remote and obscure corner, free of the intruding eyes of the men-serpent. His spear, coated with fresh blood, escaped his hand.

The metallic ringing of the weapon came in harmony with the echo of his helmet as Ornstein removed it and discarded it to the floor.

“What have I done?”

Ornstein kept asking to the wind.

He already knew the answer.


	3. Redeem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Omg, thank you so much to everyone who have left kudos/read this story! I'm glad you are enjoying it so far! Also thanks to tarori and baraspoots for the comments! I appreciate them a lot :D
> 
> Alright, so this was going to be the last chapter, but I decided to divide it in two parts. Idk, it just felt right to end this chapter this way haha. I hope you like the chapter!

The battlefield was a place of glory. A warrior’s life only had true meaning when his blood and that of his enemy painted the ground red.

A god of war like himself thrived in conflict.

He had never known other way of life, nor he had ever regretted it nor questioned it; not until he discovered the true beauty of dragons.

His lust for battle, always so blind and dictated by his father, had suddenly found a new meaning.

There had been no going back from there.

The brothers in arms with whom he had shared thousands of victories became his sworn enemies. If they confronted him, he killed them, without mercy or regret; there had been no feeling of honor , but neither had been any compassion.

_A warrior’s life is shaped by battle, but this doesn’t mean we must seek or incite senseless conflict. However, once swords have clashed and a duel has started, there’s no going back. A warrior must carry on until only one man remains standing, no matter how much the opponent begs for his life or how impossible victory seems. A true warrior fights to the bitter end. Such is the creed I imparted in all my followers... especially you, my first and most beloved apprentice._

“Ornstein.” His voice travelled to the other side of the arena like thunder, completely undistorted by the stormy winds of Archdragon Peak that never stopped blowing. “Our spears have not clashed yet; it’s still not too late to go back.”

He felt a numbing bitterness in his tongue. He knew that his words had not exactly been a plea, but they had dragged him to an unknown and dangerous place he had never been before.

_Only for you, Ornstein. Do not let this chance go to waste._

He held his spear with the blade pointing down and slammed it against the ground. A whirlwind of thunder surrounded his entire body, from his exposed toes emerging from his sandals to the tiniest thread of white hair on his head.

A final warning, not a provocation.

He knew Ornstein understood the meaning of the gesture. How couldn’t he when he had taught it to his faithful knight?

“Apologize. Take back your words and I shall forget this ever happened between us. “ He held his spear with one hand and he put the other on his shoulder. “The scar you left on me may not disappear from my flesh, but I can remove the offense that came with it from my mind. Everything can go back to the way it was... but only if you wish it so.”

_Now, do it. Say you didn’t mean it. Say you do not want any of this. My faithful knight, I ask of you... set us free._

* * *

Fear was not unknown to Ornstein.

He had been victim of its cold grasp many times in his life, but never during battle.

The presence of his beloved king by his side during the most savage of bloodsheds against dragons had always been a source of bravery. When the role of leader had fallen upon his shoulders, Ornstein had always remained strong for the sake of his comrades and fellow knights.

But there as he stood now, with his beloved and nameless king charging at him with powerful and merciless attacks he barely had time to evade, Ornstein began to taste the chilling panic of battling a god.

He knew victory was out of reach. He had known so from the moment he had decided to challenge his king.

_It does not matter... I will not die without a fight!_

The king’s spear, charged with divine lighting that consumed Ornstein’s magic, passed dangerously close to his neck. The gap that had saved his life was too miniscule, too precise to make Ornstein think it had been a miscalculation on the king’s part.

If anything, the movement had felt too calculated.

Ornstein felt the rush of adrenaline in his blood clash with the numbness of his realization. The two contradictory sentiments cancelled each other, leaving Ornstein exposed. It was only for a second, but he knew it was enough time for the king to deliver the killing blow.

The king lunged the spear at Ornstein again.

He failed.

It was all the proof Ornstein needed to confirm what he had feared after the duel had long passed its estimated runtime.

“How could you?” Ornstein hissed, the spear on his hand shaking as if a storm was brewing inside its metal confines.

The king, struggling to free his spear from the ground after the well-acted feint, stared at Ornstein with his eyes filled with disbelief.

Slowly, the threads of thunder around him began to fade away

“What am I to you?” Ornstein continued. Unlike the king’s, his thunder grew in power. “How could you shame me so?”

“Enough! Words have no place in battle, Ornstein.”

From underneath his armor, Ornstein glared at the nameless king.

“Neither does mercy.”

The king recoiled at the accusation. His face had always been an open book for his emotions to show, and Ornstein knew how to read it better than anyone else.

“Do you plan to play around until I fall exhausted at your feet so you can nurse me back to health? Do you think we can still go back to what we had after all we’ve done?”

The king took a step back. It was the first time Ornstein saw something resembling fear in his eyes and features. The expression was so unnatural to the god that it was difficult to look at without feeling disgust and regret.

For Ornstein, it was as if he had committed sin.

“We can’t.” With a nimble maneuver, Ornstein attacked the exposed and unguarded chest of the king. The blade of the spear tore muscle and bone alike, no matter how divine, until it reemerged from the upper side of the king’s back. “What we left behind is lost for good. We burned all our bridges, and now we must wander on this empty wasteland of shame until the end of time. This is the path we both chose... I won’t let you forget it.”

_Just like you won’t ever stop reminding me of my failures, Smough._

“And if to do so I must hurt you until only hate remains for me in your heart, so be it!” Ornstein exclaimed. “Nameless king, firstborn of Lord Gwyn, deserter of his family, traitor of Anor Londo, it was me, Ornstein, who is responsible for the death of the Stormdrake you tamed!”

He twisted his spear. The king’s blood travelled down from the spear's handle to Ornstein’s gauntlets. The king’s face transformed again, but for the first time, the expression on it was impossible for Ornstein to decipher.

“The method to lure it, the strategy to corner it, the attacks to damage it, the tactic to bring it down, the blow that killed it, the idea of leaving its corpse behind for you to find... they were all my doing.”

Ornstein pushed his spear forward, his hands almost slipping from the handle slick with the king’s blood.

_I’ve burned it._

The king put his hands around his. The contact was strong but gentle; yet, to Ornstein, it was a draining touch.

_Our last bridge. Now I can atone for my sins with you as my judge, nameless king._

His knees almost failed him. It was only thanks to the king that he could still stand.

_My king._

* * *

“I know.” He looked down at Ornstein as their hands were trapped together in a blood-soaked and warm grasp. “I have always known, Ornstein.”

His fingers tensed. The echo of Ornstein’s gauntlets and fingers being crushed under his godly strength put a smile on his face.

How long had it been since he had become drunk with the excitements of battle?

_Too long, too long._

The abstinence had not rusted his skills, but it had stunned his self-control. Ever since the battle had started, keeping himself in check had been a bigger challenge than dodging Ornstein’s elegant attacks.

His beloved knight had improved a great deal since the betrayal of his family. He had become the living personification of knighthood.

Were the king not so lost amidst his frenzied bloodlust, he would have been proud of his fellow warrior; but the edges of savagery were too sharp for him to concentrate on anything else other than keeping control of the frayed ropes of his own restraint.

“The killing had your name written all over it. Elegant but merciless, deadly but respectful, and yet...”

He pulled out Onstein’s spear. It was the same one he had gifted to him as symbol of their bond, a weapon that had witnessed many battles.

The same Ornstein had used to end the Stormdrake’s life.

The memory of the dragon invaded his being and filled his heart with wrath.

“I wanted to forgive you.” The king said, with the spear already halfway out of his body. “It was easy enough for me to do so when we were apart, when I believed I would never see you again. Deep down, I understood why you did it. You were angry, confused... you wanted to hurt me, just like you’re doing right now.”

“Do not—” Ornstein was so overwhelmed by fury that his tongue couldn’t form words without stuttering. “Do not dare to simplify my motives to such childish concepts! What do you know of how I felt? What do you know of my reasons?”

“I know because I felt the same way towards my father.”

The spear's blade took small chunks of his muscles before it finally abandoned his body. He felt nothing, and continued to look directly at Ornstein’s eyes, no matter how concealed they were behind his golden lion helmet.

“But that’s not all there is to it, is it?” The king said. “As immature and selfish as our actions were, we know there’s more to them than meets the eye. The reasons of why we did what we did, even if it meant leaving everything we had ever known behind, or even if it hurt the people we treasured most, are only ours to know. And in our minds, it all makes sense, our motives are absolute truths we do not dare to question, even less allow them to be questioned by anyone else. This is why I understand why you killed the dragon, Ornstein, because I know that, just like me, you had your motives and they are valid.”

His mourning of the Stormdrake had driven him almost to madness. The king had only felt that way once before, when the memory of his siblings and knights had taken him by surprise during the first night he spent all by himself, far away from the golden kingdom of his childhood.

The pain of his memories was like fuel for his boiling bloodlust.

“But I was wrong.” The king said.

Feeling every fiber of his being quivering with excitement, and blinded by the instinct of battle proper of a god of war, the king stabbed Ornstein with the same spear the knight had attacked him.

The golden armor of the knight was no obstacle for the forceful thrust, and it crumbled down like sand when the blade, shinning with thunder, pierced through it, onwards to Ornstein's body.

Soon, both the king’s blood and Ornstein’s mixed as they coated the spear’s handle and painted it crimson.

Ornstein didn’t make a sound, and if he did, it was too faint to overcome the sizzling of thunder and broken metal that surrounded him.

“I didn’t forgive you, Ornstein.”

The king smiled as he raised Ornstein from the floor. The knight hung limply from the spear’s tip, like a piece of freshly cut meat hangs from a knife.

His blood dripped down to the king’s face like rain.

“Now I see it clearly. My eyes are open, and it’s all thanks to you.”

The king smiled as a feeling of euphory consumed his soul into an ecstasy only found in the battlefield. He knew Ornstein felt the same way.

Otherwise, why else would he be smiling at him from underneath his broken helmet?

_My knight._

The king felt an overbearing affection for Ornstein that couldn’t be translated in any other form than a exploding thunder that stroke the knight as it fell from heaven.

_My friend._

Completely intoxicated by what felt like divine bliss, the king swung the spear with all the might of his arm, sending Ornstein flying into the air until his limp body was abruptly stopped by a broken stone column.

The king kept on laughing, but not out of sadism or pride in his victory. For the first in ages, perhaps ever since the departure of the Stormdrake, he was happy.

_My Ornstein._

* * *

He had done it.

Redemption had been granted to him by none other than a god, the only god he had always believed in.

_Thank you, my king._

Ornstein, with his face now fully exposed, looked at his king and smiled.

_You’ve given me penance and freed me from my sins. You’ve set me free._

He closed his eyes.

_Now I can be at peace, can’t I?_

He wished that his king’s demented laughter would be the last thing he heard, but just when he thought that little comfort would be granted to him, Ornstein heard it.

Smough’s cruel and mocking voice.

It whispered only one word.

_No._

* * *

"Ornstein?"

His knight's name was the first sound that escaped him after the frenzy of bloodlust faded from his body. The aftermath of his delirium felt like a dream, but it transformed into a nightmare when the weight of his actions came crushing down on his shoulders after he looked at Ornstein.

His hands became dead weights. The two spears he was holding escaped from his grasp. They echoed in unison as they touched the ground, red and damp with blood.

"Ornstein."

The king was left breathless. His heart shriveled inside his chest, just as it had done when he had found the Stormdrake's corpse.

_What have I done?_

Lost in the despair of his empty and meaningless victory, the king fell to his knees.

_What have I done?_


	4. Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys!! First of all, I'm so sorry for the long wait. It took me a while to figure out how I wanted this story to end lol.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who read and gave kudos to this story, and to tarori, barspoots and Jenivere for all the awesome comments! I'm really glad you liked this fic :)
> 
> I have a few more fics on mind for this fandom, even one with Smough as the protagonist. The executioner deserved more love... okay, maybe he does not but I'll try to write it anyway haha. I'm also currently working in another fic mostly focused in Oscar and Solaire, if anyone's interested in cheking it out.
> 
> Thanks again for all the support :D!

Artorias, Ciaran, Gough, Sif.

They had always been with him.

They had never felt so corporeal as they did at that moment, when he was at the brink of death.

There were others too.

Lord Gwyn, lady Gwynevere, lady Fillianore.

Lord Gwyndolin was there too.

And Smough.

Ornstein welcomed them. Unlike his fellow knights, his relationship with the gods, goddesses and the executioner had been turbulent and difficult.

Yet, he didn’t resent their presence.

They had helped him become the man and knight he was.

They had been a part of his life.

They were part of his soul. 

It was only fitting they were a part of his death too.

“Ornstein.”

The voice pierced inside his memories like a beam on sunlight.

Ornstein accepted the intrusion with an open heart.

There was no hatred nor bitterness in his being against his beloved king, not even after their fateful encounter.

Dying at his hands had not been a cruel jest of fate.

It had been Ornstein’s choice.

“What have I done?”

His king held his broken body in his arms, with a gentleness unnatural for a god of war. Ornstein could listen to his king’s heartbeats as he pulled him closer to his chest.

“I’m a monster.” The king, forgetting all pretenses, began to weep; his tears rained down upon Ornstein’s exposed face and washed away his blood where they flowed. “Ornstein. My Ornstein.”

To see his king so broken by grief and regret shattered Ornstein’s heart.

His actions had been selfish beyond belief.

He had been so eager to find redemption, so desperate to find punishment for his treason and failures, that he had paid no mind to the consequences his death would have on the king.

His king was the bearer of a vulnerable heart, one he rarely showed to others, either out of his obligation to remain strong or a childish fear of being mocked; but Ornstein had been witness of it many times.

He had never thought less of his king for his vulnerability. If anything, he had felt grateful, even honored, that the king trusted him to that extent, and showed him a part of himself that remained concealed from everyone else.

“My king.” Ornstein said, surprised his broken lungs still had enough breath in them to create words.

He lifted his arm and wiped the tears from the king’s face.

He felt their wetness.

He felt their warmth.

It was the first sensation he had felt in ages, his hands now free from the barrier of his gauntlets.

The king grabbed his hand before it lost its wavering strength. His divine fingers and palm were calloused with the scars of battles and lighting.

It was a not comfortable touch, but to Ornstein, it was the most beautiful contact he could have ever wished for.

“It’s alright. It’s all over now.” Ornstein continued. “None of this is your fault. I wanted this. This is what I deserve.”

The king shook his head in denial.

“None of this was good, Ornstein. None of this you deserved. What I did is—” The king rested Ornstein’s hand on the knight’s unprotected chest. He then used his own hand to remove Ornstein’s hair away from his face, damp with sweat and blood.

And with tears as well.

The king’s broken expression transformed into bewilderment.

Ornstein needn’t ask him the reason of his shock. He knew well what had caused it, and a shame like he had never felt before took over him.

He closed his eyes, both flinching and rejoicing in the soft sensation of the king’s digits as they caressed his heavily marked skin.

“Scales. You are changing, Ornstein... since when—”

The king lost his voice to a trapped sob in his chest that demanded venting. Unable to continue, he pressed his forehead against Ornstein’s draconic complexion.

Ornstein sighed, comforted by the king’s warmth and scent.

“Soon after I arrived here.” He confessed, weakly stroking the loose threads of the king’s hair as they fell on his face. “Not long after we started meditating together.”

“Why?” The king asked, his booming voice reduced to a growly whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you stop it. You didn’t have to endure the transformation against your will. I just wanted us to mend things, to enjoy each other’s company again. I never meant to force you into anything, I never meant for any of this to happen... Oh, my friend. My Ornstein.”

“I know, my king. I do not blame you; I never did. This change is my fault alone.” Ornstein spoke, his half-closed eyes offering him only a blurry image of his king. He smiled at him, hoping to ease the king’s pain. “I was happy to be with you again, after so long. My shame for leaving Anor Londo, my grief at the loss of my fellow knights, my anger at myself for not being able to save them, my resentment towards you for abandoning us... none of it could compare with the joy I felt at being at your side again.”

The king caught Ornstein’s hand again. He pulled it away from his hair and reached it closer to his lips and placed a kiss on it.

The gesture came close to sinking Ornstein into an abyss of grief, but he remained calm; not for his sake, but for the king’s.

“It shamed me.” Ornstein spoke the confession freely. His king deserved to know the truth, and he had little precious time left before death dragged him to an unknown beyond. “It shamed me to feel happiness again, in this sanctuary of dragons, in the prayers and meditations dedicated to them... after having slayed thousands of them. It shamed me to have found peace in this secluded place while all my friends are either dead or broken beyond salvation.”

_Remember, Ornstein._

A soft chuckle escaped his chest.

_I do Smough. I always do._

“How could I deserve anything good after betraying my duty as a knight? How could I feel comfortable in your presence after what I did to your Stormdrake?”

The king held his hand tighter.

The pressure was not painful.

If anything, it was reassuring, just like the look in his eyes.

“I forgive you.” The king said. “I forgive you, Ornstein. Can you forgive me for what I did? For all the pain I caused to you and my family; for not being there to protect Artorias, Sif, Ciaran and Gough... for all the awful things my treason caused. Can you forgive me, Ornstein?”

It was more than Ornstein’s could bear. His silent tears became choking sobs that distorted his speech into a clumsy collection of sounds.

“I cannot speak for all of them, my king.” Ornstein stuttered. “But please know that I, Ornstein, your most faithful knight, forgive you with all my heart. I cannot call you wrong. I now understand why you did what you did. You left Anor Londo not out of a need to spite your father or because you were unsatisfied with the people that loved you. You left because you wanted to go after what you loved.”

Ornstein would have laughed had his ribs and stomach not been carbonized.

The king stared at him, with an expression that oscillated between comfort and mortification.

“You wanted to follow that which made you happy... and you were in your right to do so. My king, you deserve happiness, and I’m glad the dragons granted it to you. You deserved it. You deserved to be free.”

“Such kind words cannot erase my selfishness, Ornstein.” The king said, slowly distancing himself from Ornstein’s forehead, but still clinging to his limp hand. “The pain and hurt I caused all of you was real. None of you deserved it. You were right about me... deep down, I’m nothing but a pampered god that never thinks of the consequences his selfish actions have on those he loves most. It was never my intention to hurt any of you, but I still did. I did, and for that, I’m sorry. I truly am.”

“Don’t apologize, my king. Like I’ve said, I have no right to judge you, not when I did the same. Forgive me for having been so cruel to you... I just couldn’t accept that I could understand your reasons so easily. Perhaps, in a way, I wanted to punish you. I wanted this happiness to fall apart. If it did, then we would both be paying for our selfish fulfillments.”

Ornstein felt how all warmth started to fade from his broken body. He kept a calm expression on his face.

He did not want to scare his king.

If his fate was to die in his arms, he wanted it to be a peaceful experience for them both.

“How pretentious of me... to think I had the right to pass such judgement on you.”

“Maybe we are only a couple of egotists.” The king ventured with a playfully mocking tone, a sad smile adorning his mouth. “It could be that we are both beyond the forgiveness of the world and the other gods, but I don’t care, Ornstein. Not when I was able to find so much happiness at your side in this brief time we had together.”

“My king...”

Ornstein looked at the king’s features. Soon, he would never see them again.

The sole thought was enough to destroy Ornstein’s pretense that he was ready to welcome death with open arms.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

He too had enjoyed the presence of his king, even if it hadn’t been perfect and his many regrets had soured the experience.

Flawed as it had been, the time he had shared with the king in Archdragon Peak had left a pleasant impression in his soul.

It hadn’t been perfect, but it had been worthwhile.

_I don’t want it to end._

His honor tried to repel the idea, but no amount of obligation or need for repentance could silence Ornstein’s wish.

Ornstein freed his hand from the king’s and placed it on his cheek. The king closed his eyes at his touch.

“I want to stay with you.”

_Artorias, everyone... forgive me. I know I need to repent. Smough, I am aware that I am not worthy of any kind of honor or joy, not after all I’ve done. But I want to live, I want to exist and be with whom makes me happy. I want to be with my king._

“Forever.”

The king’s eyes sprung open. He and Ornstein looked at each other, their silence only interrupted by the murmur of the wind.

“Ornstein.”

The king breathed a soft sigh to keep his emotions under control. With careful movements, he took out the Stormdrake’s scale from his tunic and placed it on top of Ornstein’s heart.

“Your transformation... I can help you complete it. It can save you, but the change is permanent. There’s no going back from this, Ornstein. Please, don’t feel forced to do it. You don’t have to do this, not for me.”

“There’s not coming back from death, either.” Ornstein said with a chuckle. “And I’m not doing this only for you, my king. I want to do this for me too. I want to be with you, in any shape or form.”

“But even so, the ritual could kill you. I don’t—”

“Do it, my king.” Ornstein pleaded with the last of his strength. “Hurry.”

The king nodded. He gently laid Ornstein on the floor.

More dead than alive, Ornstein could barely make sense of what followed.

His king intoned a prayer.

Lighting surrounded him.

The scale in Ornstein’s chest reacted to it.

It hurt.

It was painful.

It was pleasant.

_Artorias._

His body.

It was fading.

_Sif._

Or was it his soul?

_Ciaran._

It could be both.

_Gough._

It had failed.

He was dying.

His king had not succeeded.

_Remember, Ornstein._

There was no other explanation for the absolute darkness that consumed him, as if the Abyss itself had sprouted from his heart and flooded the world.

“Ornstein.”

The king.

“My Ornstein.”

_My king._

* * *

He finished his prayer before the stone column.

He remained on his knees for a moment more, right in front of his hand-made altar, the sun shining brightly above him.

The men serpent had done their duty well.

He had not believed possible that the armor could have been restored from the little scraps that had remained. 

But there it was, the golden lion armor, as lustrous as it had been while in Ornstein’s care.

“My most faithful knight.”

The king rested his forehead against his joined hands and closed his eyes.

“This shall be your resting place.”

He thought of Ornstein for a moment. The memory of his knightly figure sent a shiver of grief to his heart.

He had yet to accept he was gone forever.

Never again will his eyes see him again.

At least, not in that form.

The ground underneath him trembled under the weight of the gigantic creature, its shadow shielding his back from the stinging embrace of the sun and covering him with a refreshing shadow.

The king smiled.

“But this is also your place of rebirth.”

He turned around and faced the Stormdrake.

_My Stormdrake._

The dragon’s black feathers danced around them as the wind blew them away. 

Ornstein lowered his head until the hand of the king touched his draconic face.

_My Ornstein._

He caressed him for a long while before he embraced him.

Ornstein spoke to him, in a way only dragons could.

_“Fly with me, my king.”_

The king almost refused. Ornstein had yet to get used to his new form, and his flight would surely be clumsy and unbalanced, like that of a newborn drake.

The king shrugged away his fears and accepted. He climbed up to Ornstein’s neck and aided him to take flight, guiding him with both his body and spoken directions.

The king laughed fondly at Ornstein’s unexperienced attempts, but was pleasantly surprised when he managed to soar the air.

_“It’s more difficult than I thought, my king.”_

“Worry not, Ornstein. I’m here with you.”

_“I wonder if I’ll ever be able to fly on my own.”_

“You’ll learn. You have always been so very capable, Ornstein.” The king said, caressing some of Ornstein’s feathers as the wind crashed against his face.

Nothing could compare to that feeling, not even the excitement of the battlefield.

It was a happiness he couldn’t define.

One that made him feel his heart was free of all regret.

_This is what I want._

The king opened his eyes and enjoyed the endless sky that spread before them.

_This is where I belong._

“Even if you never get used to flying on your own, it doesn’t matter, Ornstein.” The king spoke. “I’ll always be here with you.”

Ornstein flapped his wings.

_“As will I, my king.”_

The king smiled.

He remained silent for the rest of the ride, lost in the joy of being in the everlasting company of his most faithful knight.

His most faithful dragon.

* * *

_“My king?”_

Ornstein tried to reach the king, but stopped when he noticed he had fallen asleep, lost in a pleasant dream.

One where the king, his knights and all his siblings enjoyed a peaceful time together, undisturbed by war and free of their burdening duties.

A childish fantasy, so proper of his king.

Ornstein chuckled, or at least made a draconic sound that was the equivalent of it.

_There’s no going back from this._

He focused on the path before him, an eternal sky bathed in sunlight.

_I’m not sure if this happiness we now have will last forever. Everything ends, my king... and I’m sure we will too, one day. Perhaps death will find us in our sleep, or maybe it will come to us in the form of a warrior that slays us both in the heat of battle. Maybe it will be just mere coincidence, or the fateful price of our selfishness. It matters not to me, not when I have this._

Ornstein dared to fly higher on his own.

His wings did not falter, and his balance remained strong.

_Not when I am with you._

The thought was enough to ease his anxious heart.

He thought Smouhg’s voice would echo within him and shatter his peace.

It remained silent.

In all the following years Ornstein spent in the company of his king, he never heard it again.

Eventually, he forgot about it, but he never forgot about his fellow knights or the deities he had once served.

They remained with him until the very end, as did the king.

His beloved nameless king.


End file.
